


Carnivore (semi-hiatus until October)

by FeaRauko



Series: From Perdition [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A little comfort, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF!Castiel, Blood and Violence, DEAN IS A BADASS, Dean Winchester Whump, Dean goes through a lot of shit in hell okay, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hell, I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition, M/M, Memory Loss, Mostly Canon Compliant, Panic, Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Torture, Whump, but Dean's trauma/feelings about it are, fuck Naomi, just to be clear..., the rape is also not explicit, the rape tag is NOT for Dean and Cas's relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 21:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17433995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeaRauko/pseuds/FeaRauko
Summary: This story begins at the end of season 3 when Dean is dragged to hell and ends where season 4 picks up.It has always frustrated me how much the show glossed over Dean's time in hell and Cas's battle to rescue "the righteous man." This fic is about filling that gap. It's mostly canon compliant (although I take a couple minor liberties).This fic gets pretty dark. There will be lots of pain. Read the tags. For the love of Chuck, read the tags. They may change as I write, but I tried to go ahead and put anything that might end up in there.There will be all kinds of abuse. (I do a lot of cut aways and most of the sexual abuse at least will either be implied or at least not super explicit, but still...) But I promise you, as someone who has been through a lot of it myself, that none of it will be romanticized. Every bit of it will be shown just as twisted and ugly as it is.





	1. Nothing

 

Dean gasped, but it did no good. Sure, he made the motion, and it kind of felt like breathing, but it lacked the...fulfillment that usually accompanied breathing, and it did nothing to ease the ache in his lungs. Where was he? What was...Sam! Lilith! He had to...

“Sam! SAM! AH!” Pain. Dean tried to remember. Hellhounds. There were hellhounds. They came for him. They clawed at him, ripped at him, tearing him apart until claws and teeth became hooks and chains. He was in Hell, and he was suspended, still being pulled apart. He felt the panic rising, which also felt wrong, because there was no heart rate to go with it. There was no adrenaline rush, no sound of blood rushing in his ears...but the nausea was there. He was cold. He was also hot somehow. He was trembling. He gasped at air that did his lungs no good and pulled against his chains.

“SOMEBODY HELP ME!! SAM SAAAAAAM!!” He knew he couldn’t hear him. He should have known anyway...but panic isn’t rational.

And so Dean called out for his brother, cried for him for hours. Minutes? Weeks? It was hard to tell. But it began to occur to him that his throat should be raw, that maybe the pain of the hooks pulling at him should have...maybe not lessened but at least not feel so _new_. Dean tried again to make sense of his surroundings. There was...nothing. The chains, yes, and the place seemed to glow with no actual light source. But beyond Dean and the chains...just nothing. A new wave of panic hit Dean as he began to realize that this would be his eternity.

Yes, he had made his peace with going to Hell. He’d done it for Sam. But honestly, he had thought he’d get to punch something once he was down here. He knew it wouldn’t be pleasant...but he had at least thought he’d get to make the demons regret ever dragging him in. He had planned to raze the place. He wasn’t delusional. He never expected to enjoy it. But he at least had the peace of knowing he’d spend eternity locked in an epic battle with the enemy, making these bastards’ lives miserable on the bottom side while Sam tore them up topside. But this...he had never expected this.

Weeks passed.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

“ANYBODY! HEYYYYYY! SHOW YOUR FACES, YOU DEMON BASTARDS!!”

Dean screamed. He cried. He cussed. He did it mostly to fill the nothing. Nobody was there to hear him. There was just nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Fucking nothing.

“DAMMIIIT!! COME ONNNN! THERE’S GOT TO BE SOMEBODY OUT THERE! LILITH! BITCH, DID YOU DRAG ME DOWN HERE JUST TO FORGET ABOUT ME? SOMEBODYYYYYY! Somebody...please…”

Nothing.

Nothing.

Humming.

Humming?

Dean’s mind was messing with him. There was nothing here. Nothing but nothing. Nothing but...humming…

“Hey! HEYYY! IS SOMEBODY THERE?!” _Please...please be somebody…_

The humming stopped. The response was slow in coming, slow enough that Dean had already decided that he was crazy and it was just nothing. But finally he heard…

“There you are, boy. I’ve been looking for you.”

A figure appeared above him, sliding down the chain connected to Dean’s shoulder until they were face to face. It was a demon. It was _obviously_ a demon now that that Dean could see their true faces. It was horrible. It was hideous. And it was goddamn beautiful because it was _something._ It was fucking _something_ , and Dean stared at it like it was everything.

“Well?” The man studied Dean’s face. “What do you think about getting you out of those chains? Would you like to come with me?”

“Yes. Yes, please…” Dean should have been scared. He should have been a lot of things. But for now, he was just relieved that there was something else in this god forsaken place.

The man softly sang as he freed Dean’s hands. “Heaaaven. I’m in Heaven. And my…” Dean couldn’t help but grin at the demon’s sense of irony as he moved to the bonds on his feet. “...and I seem to find the…”   _Argh!_ Dean grit his teeth to keep from crying out as he pulled the hooks from his shoulder and side.

That’s when Dean felt it. It was a sort of...thunder without sound...that reverberated through him and his new companion, a power that pulsed and seemed to shake the whole of Hell.

“What the hell…?” He looked at the demon, who was now had one arm wrapped around Dean to hold him while hanging by the other.

“Hmmm” The demon seemed...less confused by the new something in their nothingness, but no less concerned.”Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

And then they were falling.

 

***

 

Castiel imagined that this was what it felt like to be birthed. There was pressure, pressing in on all sides, threatening to crush him, pressing him down, pressing him forward. He gasped but there was nothing to fill his lungs, only weight. He struggled, worked his wings, clawed, reached, stretched. He fought, searching for the other side of this barrier, unsure if he was making progress or even still going the right direction...and then he was free.

The freedom hurt. It was too empty. It itched. It burned. It stung as he opened his eyes and filled his lungs.

So...this was Hell.

Castiel could not imagine a more hungry and desperate place. The weight was gone, but there was a different kind of discomfort now, like the void was trying to absorb him. It pulled at his grace, wanting to suck him dry. It chewed at him. It dragged at his limbs and demanded his energy and attention. Castiel felt as though place itself was trying to digest him. He unfurled his wings and took a moment to steady himself.

Every instinct told him to run. He was a warrior and not unused to battle, but this was different. So far, there was no one here to fight...just a place. A place that was eating as his very essence. Castiel shook it off as best he could and steeled himself for what lay ahead. He had a purpose here. He had fought his way into hell for a reason and could not afford to let this place affect him. He was not leaving without Michael’s sword.

He dove deeper.


	2. Companions

They fell.

They had been falling forever.

Dean tried to make sense of it as they fell, but failed. There was light and dark and color and none and sometimes, maybe, he thought he could make out figures or sounds that almost made sense to him. Almost...but couldn’t. The further they fell, the less Dean could feel the presence of that strange power, until it was finally completely gone from his senses.

His senses...ha. They were all a mess anyway. In all honesty, Dean wasn’t even sure anymore if they were falling or flying. Were they going up? Down? Sideways? Gravity seemed to pull from random directions as the fell (flew?), like there were multiple sources of it rather than one constant “gravity is down” sort of thing.

Dean was just deciding that he needed to throw up, when he saw the wall. They were flying headfirst towards it. Did, did the demon not see it?

“Woah! Uh, hey man! Yo, eyes on the road!” Dean started to scramble but his companion gripped him tighter, wrapping both arms around him but otherwise giving no response. They were gonna hit it. Could you die if you were dead? It was getting closer, closer, closer… _Shit._

When they were only feet away, the demon suddenly halted their forward progress and turned them, feet towards the wall, and let Dean go. Dean fell to the...floor? Okay, not a wall. Ground, this was the ground. Dean was gonna be sick. He looked up to find a very amused smirk on his companion’s face.

“Dude, what the fuck? A little warning next time?”

“Hmmm, I do apologize. If you can stand, then please, let’s go inside.” With that, he walked off, softly singing that song to himself again. Dean swallowed and took a deep breath (that still did him no good), and stood to follow. He followed the demon to two large stone doors, intricately carved with figured Dean tried to not look too long at. As they swung open, Dean was temporarily blinded by the light emanating from within, having long grown accustomed to the near blackness the had mostly experiences so far. He felt a hand grip his own and lead him forwards and heard the doors shut behind him.

Now, he was uncomfortable. He hadn’t had enough sense before, but he did now. What the hell was he doing? His eyes slowly adjusted to the light... _shit._

The room was full of tables and racks. The walls were covered in all sorts of disgusting looking devices that he really did not want to know the function of. But more urgently...there were demons, lots of them, all staring directly at him. Dean grabbed the shoulder of his companion.

“Hey, man, they uh...are they with us?” One of the demons approached them and slowly appraised Dean before turning to the one Dean had followed here.

“Alastair,” she grinned. “Is this for us?”

His companion, Alastair she had called him, put his hand on the small of Dean’s back and smiled. “Silvi, this is Dean. Dean,” he turned his smile on him, “meet the family. They are with me. And they will be your...companions...for quite a while.”

Dean didn’t like it.  He didn’t like the way he called them his companions. He didn’t miss the way Alastair clarified that they were with _him_ rather than _them._ He didn’t like the way he said he’d be with them “for a while.” He _really_ did like the way Alaastair said all of this as though Dean had no choice. He turned to the demon.

“Look, man, if you think-” Alastair’s finger was on Dean’s lips.

“Shhhh. Shhhh. Calm down, boy. I have to leave, but I’ll be back soon. We can talk then.” With that, he turned to leave towards the doors they had come through.

The one he had called Silva called after him. “Um, Alastair?”

He turned with a grin on his face that was...gross. There wasn’t another word for it. “Of course Silvi. He’s all yours. Just don’t forget to share.” Alastair walked through the door and put his head back in just before it closed, “Have funnnn.”

And he was gone.

 


	3. Intact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is alone. Dean is a badass. Things get messy.

 

Hell was...a strange place. Castiel found it fascinating how some parts of it seemed so physical, so tangible, while other parts of hell were just...nothingness. There were still even more parts that were neither physical nor nothing, but rather something akin to spiritual, inhabited and shaped by some formless malice that was fed by broken souls and demons who no longer had one. Castiel grimaced as his mind briefly compared it to Heaven. There was less...malice...perhaps, but it was at least somewhat familiar to the angel the way that physical and non-physical coexisted on the same map.

Map...that might have been nice. Castiel lamented, not for the last time, that he was alone. Twelve of them had come to the “entrance,” if it could be called that. But the way into hell had become complicated. Once they had entered the barrier, senses had  become useless and Castiel had found himself unable to sense or reach out to his garrison. There had been nothing but the pressure. Now that he was on the other side, he had not yet perceived even a hint of his brothers and sisters’ energies. Was he really the only one who had made it through? This was...difficult. But Castiel was a soldier; and he had orders, orders that he would carry out alone if it was necessary.

The thing bothering him was, Castiel was also a commander, and he had failed his brothers and sisters. He had lost them. Had they fallen back to regroup? Were they all trapped in that barrier? Were they even alive? It had taken everything in him to not turn around and fight his way right back out. However, he had no way of knowing that he would be able to get back in if he had, and Dean Winchester, the righteous man MUST be saved. Heaven, Earth, angels and humans...all of creation depended on it; and so Castiel had decided to go on alone.

He wondered how long he had been searching? A week? A year? Ten? It was difficult to tell. Time had a different kind of flow here, a way of meaning everything and nothing at the same time. It was long enough to grow frustrated, but not long enough to abandon his mission. It was long enough to feel lost, but not long enough to lose purpose. That’s how long it had been.

Castiel dove deeper. He would search for the sword, alone...apparently. The only relevance in how long it took was whether or not the righteous man would be intact when he finally found him.

***

The door shut. Dean turned back to see the hungry eyes of his new…” _companions.”_ He counted eleven...no...thirteen demons...there were two more coming from behind a shelf of...he tried not to look. Instead, he readied himself and shoved down the fear.

This, he told himself, this was more what he had expected of hell. He had wanted _something_ right? He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the closest weapon (a machete...good...familiar). This was something. And he would let them know it. He would make sure that all of hell knew Dean Fucking Winchester was here. Dean smiled.

“Well kids?” he spun the machete in his hand. “Let’s get this party started.”

The closest one lunged. He sidestepped the attack and spun back towards her, swinging the machete as he did. One head rolled, Silvi’s head...if he remembered correctly. Two arms reached around him from behind, over his arms in an attempt to restrain him. Dean lowered his stance, stepping one leg around behind the demon’s and rolling back to bring them both to the floor. He scrambled around, punched, and stood just in time to give the next contestant a nice uppercut through the face with with his machete. Dean turned to see a knife coming towards his face. He caught the wrist holding it with his left, then swung up to sever the offending arm. The demon screamed.

They kept coming, one after another, two, three, four at a time. This was what he had waited for. This, he knew. If there was one thing Dean was good at, it was killing. And so he slashed his way through them, stabbing, severing, kicking, breaking, throwing, punching, slicing. They kept coming.

They...they kept coming. There were thirteen of them right? So far, Dean’s kill tally was about twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. But they kept coming. He cut down another, Silvi. Silvi?

 _Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._ He cut down another. He didn’t know his name, but he recognized him as the one who had received the custom machete uppercut earlier. They weren’t dying. Well...they weren’t _staying_ dead anyway. No matter how many times he cut them down, snapped their necks, cut them to pieces...they...kept coming back. _Son of a bitch…_

On the bright (or whatever) side, Dean also noted that he was not getting tired either. He could do this for just as long as they could, and he would. _So this is it,_ he thought. This was his epic battle that he would fight into eternity. He could deal with that. He let out a cry as he continued on. If this was how these demons wanted to spend their immortal existences, he would oblige. They would hate having him here just as much as he hated being here. He would see to it.

The room, as much as it had looked like something from a horror film before, looked even more so now. He ducked a blow and took out the legs of the demon in front of him. Blood was splattered across the walls, tables, and everything on them. He stabbed Silva through the throat, “killing her” for the fourth time. The floor was slick with the blood, as well as guts and grime. He cut “bear hug demon” from navel to sternum. The room itself seemed to be screaming. The demons kept coming, getting in a little nick here and there, a solid hit occasionally, but nothing substantial. He stepped left to avoid an incoming attack.

He slipped. He fucking slipped...and as he hit the ground, they were on him.

Dean had thought that the hell hounds was terrifying. He had thought that hanging for years, with seemingly nothing in existence except him, chains, and hooks was painful. But this...this was a new level of horror.

The demons tore into him, cutting, biting, ripping. They grabbed into the cuts on his skin and pulled it back from the muscle. They tore at the sinew. They pulled, until hands and feet and legs and arms separated from his body. He screamed, and they tore. He screamed. They tore. He screamed. They tore...until there was nothing left.


	4. Daddy's Blunt Little Instrument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Alastair have a "chat."
> 
> Warning: This chapter starts to delve into Alastair's psychological abuse of the people around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, there was going to be a lot of Castiel with this chapter, but as I've been hanging on to this section for 2 weeks, trying to finish Cas's part up...I'm deciding to go ahead and share what I have. Hopefully though, you will all get a good, cleansing, healthy dose of bamf!Castiel soon. 
> 
> *fingers crossed that I actually adult well this week and can have time for things I want to do*

 

And then he was whole. He was still screaming...and confused. How was here even here? The demons were still on top of him. He fought, but it did no good. They were chaining him down to one of those racks in the room. All thirteen were present. One of them put his hand over Dean’s mouth.

“Shit. Do you ever  _ stop _ ? Look at you...all panicked and wailing.” The demon paused for a moment and smirked down at Dean. “Poor baby. The fun’s actually just getting started.”

Dean swallowed down what he was sure wouldn’t have been the bravest sound he’d ever made and met the demon’s eyes. “Why don’t you let me back off this rack and I’ll show you some more just how fun we can have?”

“Oh!” The demon barked out a laugh and crouched in front of him. His voice turned dark and came out low, almost a whisper. “You really think you’re some kind of badass, don’t you? I won’t say you didn’t put up a fight, but did you really think that you’d be able to last? Do you think that the next round would go any different? We  _ could _ let you up, sure; but the thing is...no matter how many times we did, every battle, no matter how long it drug out, would ultimately end here, with you on this rack.”

Silvi rested an elbow on the crouched demon’s shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. Apparently, Derrick, this one’s a special case or some shit. Alastair has big plans for him.” She smiled crookedly at Dean. “And I think we’re gonna find out just how much fun he can stand.”

“That’s enough, Silvi.” 

Silvi startled and jerked up straight, looking up past Dean to the source of the voice. “Alastair, I-”

“Uh uh.” He was instantly in front of her with a finger on her lips. “I know you’re excited, but I don’t want to hear your excuses any more than I want to hear your speculations about my plans. Now, please give our guest and myself some space.” She gulped and stepped back. The entire group backed away to create a large circle with Dean and Alastair in the center.

“Now, Dean, let’s have a chat, shall we?” He said it gently...almost pleasantly even...but something in his voice made Dean’s hair stand on end. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.  _ Fuck.   _ But if Alastair thought that Dean was going to play along, he had another thing coming. However, before he could let Alastair know just what he thought of having a “chat” with him, Dean was backhanded across the face.

They locked eyes. Dean’s face was defiant, but he said nothing. Alastair allowed the strike to set in before he finally began.  “Dean. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, fun here can go on forever. No matter what we do to you, your...body...as it were, will simply rebuild, and we can start all over again.” Alastair leaned forward over Dean. “And trust me, what you’ve experienced so far, it’s...hardly even a taste of all the fun we can have. So, I will give you the option now...we don’t have to do this. I’ll even unbind you. You can get up and end everything I’m going to do to you whenever you want. It’s your choice.” 

Dean studied his face. “What the fuck, dude? What’s the point of this charade, if you’re just gonna let me leave?”

“Oh…I didn’t say you could leave.” Alastair drew back up to his full height. “I said that you could get up.”

“Okay?”

“Here’s the deal.” He crossed the room to start running his hands over various...tools. “My friends and I will not torture you, if you take on the job instead, you do the torturing.” 

“Torture demons? You want to trade places with me? The fuck kind of sickos are you? Sorry, man, I don’t get off on that and you’re not my type anyway.” Dean’s smirk was met with another backhand.

“Boy, you will learn to listen before you speak. They won’t be demons, just damned souls. You take my place. Another soul takes yours.” He paused to let Dean absorb what he was saying before continuing. “Look, you like to fight.” Alastair looked around the room to survey the carnage from Dean’s fight with the thirteen. He smiled. “I would say that you have quite the talent for violence, in fact. You’re a weapon, a blunt instrument. You always have been. I’m just offering you the chance to continue what you’re good at, what you  _ enjoy. _ The people down here deserve it as much as the demons you’ve been fighting. It’s a win-win really. So...what do you say, boy?”

A blunt instrument...yeah, he pretty much was. He had told Sam as much recently. Sam...had disagreed.  _ You’re not a grunt, Dean. You’re a genius. _ A genius, ha. Nope. But...there was at least one person who thought he was more than what Alastair was saying. Sammy thought he was more. And so... 

“Fuck you and your deal.” 

Alastair’s confident expression grew dark. “This is Hell, boy, everyone breaks eventually. Why not save yourself some misery?”

“Cause I’m not a fucking, piece-of-shit demon with no soul who would torture people to save myself a little pain. You think I haven’t had worse? I knew what I was signing up for when I came down here. Bring it on…”

Alastair sighed. “So be it. I have nothing but time.” Alastair reached towards a shelf and froze.

Then Dean felt it, that...presence. It was the same one from before when when he was still hanging. The air hummed with its electricity. The floor shook. Hell itself vibrated with its power. He heard a low growl come from Alastair.

“Silvi,” Alastair closed his eyes and balled his fists, “deal...with... _ that.” _

“But…” Dean looked towards Silvi’s voice to see her shrinking back, looking more terrified than he thought a demon was capable of. “But, Alastair, it’s...it’s a-”

“More excuses?” Silvi was thrown against the wall by an invisible force. Alastair’s demeanor had taken on a dangerous feel. “Silvi...” he crossed the room to her where she was still pinned to the wall and placed a hand on her face, caressing it. “Have I not been good to you, dearest?”

“Yes,” she choked out. “Yes, Alastair.”

“Then why don’t you respect me?” 

“I...I do. Of course I do. I-” she pulled a shaky breath, “I just don’t think I can...I was just speaking my thoughts.”

“But I didn’t ask for your thoughts, did I?” She shook her head. “No,” he continued, “No I did not ask for your opinion. In fact, I have  _ never _ asked for your opinion. And if it is ever okay for you to give your opinion, I will let you know. Why don’t you respect me, Silvi?

“I..I do.”

“Then, don’t question me. And if I tell you to deal with something, you deal with it, and you keep your mouth shut. Take my hellhounds. Take the whole legion with you. Even  _ that _ has a limit against the hordes of hell. Find that limit. Deal...with...it.” With that, he walked away, and the force holding Silvi to the wall released her. She slid to the ground.

Dean hated Alastair, more and more by the moment. He hated Silvi too, but...well...he understood. He recognized the way she shrank from him, the way she both feared him and craved his attention and approval. 

Dean was also confused. Apparently this presence was...not with them. Sure, Alastair has seemed as eager as Dean to not have a face-to-face with it when he first unchained him and brought him here, but Dean had just assumed it was some big bad hell hotshot that he didn’t get along with. This conversation sounded like the presence wasn’t even from around here. Then what was it?

Silvi’s voice brought him from his thoughts. “Yes sir. With me, people.” Dean watched the group of demons follow Silvi from the room. As the door closed behind them, Alastair let out an exasperated sigh.

“Now then…” He turned to Dean. “Let’s have some fun.”


	5. Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silvi, meet Castiel. Cas, meet Silvi and her legion.

 

**_There._ **

Castiel pushed as hard and fast as his wings would carry him. He felt as though he had been wandering aimlessly for years, but now, he felt it. He had a direction. It was faint, but he could see it, feel it...it was _there._

He thought that maybe he had felt it when he first arrived in hell, but Castiel had still been so disoriented, so unaccustomed to this hellscape that he wasn’t sure. And it had faded and vanished so quickly that he thought he must have imagined it. But he could sense it now, and it was real...something that so obviously didn’t belong here.

It had to be the righteous man, this...Dean Winchester, they had called him. Everything else here seemed so harsh to Castiel, either too hot or too cold, glaringly bright or disorientingly dark. All of the colors and feelings here were either too severe and bold or non-existent at all. But this...it felt...warm. It was warm. And it was bright, but not overly so. It was just soft glow in gorgeous shades of greens and golds. It was beautiful and comforting and calling to him, and Castiel had not realized until this very moment just how tired he was of everything here in this place. He was so weary of this hellscape. But this...it was beautiful. It was still so far away, but it was _there._

Castiel flew towards it with abandon. He was here so save that light, but he felt almost as though its presence was saving him. It reached out to him, called to him, not consume as everything else around him tried to but rather to touch, like maybe they could help each other. The light felt desperate, panicked, needy...but it was still so different from everything else and Castiel imagined that it could give as much as it would take..

Castiel was focused, pressing onward. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel them, that he didn’t notice the demons surrounding him. It was just irrelevant. What demon could stand against an angel of the lord? He continued on. He did not want to fight. There was no fear in him, just no time for it. He had to reach that light before it disappeared again.

But the numbers kept growing. Castiel cringed inwardly as he realized that he would have to deal with this. Aside from the delay, fighting demons wasn’t...pleasant. Of course, he had not expected this expedition to be without battle, but he still did not relish it. He slowly came to a stop as they finally began to show themselves around him.

There were thousands, which was, again, not so much a problem as an annoyance, a distraction. One in particular stood out from the rest. She was the closest to him, though she still seemed to be keeping what she perhaps thought was a safe distance. There was one by her side. He was time and a half her size and burly. Still, from the that way he and the rest of the group looked to her, she was obviously the leader.

Castiel took in this lead demon. Measured her….and sighed. She wanted this fight even less than he did. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the soul, the righteous man that they were delaying his progress in reaching. He didn’t have time for this.

He opened his eyes to meet hers. They stood that way for a moment, evaluating one another. Castiel scowled. “Do not block my way. 

She looked as though she would crumble, but to her credit, and his annoyance, she stood her ground. She raised her chin in defiance. “He's ours, angel. He sold his soul. We own him fair and square. He...he doesn’t belong to you.”

Castiel sighed. He wished that she would just back down, that she would take her legion and leave. He knew, also, that she probably couldn’t do that any more than he could turn away and abandon his own mission. He didn’t want this, but if this was how it had to be…

”Then you will become ash.” 

He dove forward and grabbed the demon next to her by the face. Castiel met the demon’s eyes...and let his grace flow. His grace surged into the demon, wrapping itself around the demon’s...not soul...essence. Castiel didn’t like it, the mingling of his angelic grace with demonic energy. It felt...contaminating. It also just felt wrong. He didn’t like using his grace this way. But he pushed harder, cringing at the feel of his grace twisting and burning its way through the demon, consuming him from the inside out, until he was dust.

The leader jumped back wide-eyed. The rest who were near enough to witness shrunk back and looked at each other nervously. For just a moment, Castiel had hope that the others would decide this fight was not worth it. For just a moment, Castiel thought they might leave...but of course they wouldn’t. 

It didn’t take long for the legion to recover from their shock. The leader screamed an advance, and then they were on him. Castiel  drew his blade. This was less…efficient. But he liked it better. And maybe...just maybe...this would give them the opportunity to see the futility of their struggle. He would give them one more chance to learn. Perhaps they would give up. 

They did not. Castiel stabbed. They came. He sliced. They came. He cut them down, tens, hundreds of them. They came. He drew his blade across another throat. Didn’t they see how futile this was? One clawed at his wings from behind. Castiel threw him off and drove his blade through his chest. Two came from above. He dodged and relieved them of their heads. They kept coming.

Through all of it, the leader was somehow able to avoid his blade. She was quick, dancing in and out of his reach. Striking and retreating, occasionally landing blows while he was momentarily distracted with one of the others. She was good. It was useless. It didn’t matter how good she was. Her strikes did no damage, and he would catch her eventually. In the meantime, demons kept coming, and Castiel kept cutting them down.

And then it hit him. Castiel felt it like a knife through the gut. _No…_  

Castiel actually bent over with the agony of it. It...wasn’t _his_ pain, but still knocked the breath out of him. The soul, the one that didn’t belong here, the Righteous Man, the warm glow that he so desperately wanted to reach...that soul was _screaming_ .  _NO!!_ He...he had to reach it. _Now._ What was he doing? He didn’t have time for this. He looked at the hoard of demons steadily coming at him. They seemed no closer to surrender or retreat than they had in the beginning. Castiel lowered his blade and sighed as they came in. 

 _So be it…_  

Castiel let out a cry and sent his grace flying. He pushed himself out in every direction, overtaking the demons touching him, surrounding him, overtaking all of them...and he felt _all_ of it. He felt it as his grace reached out and burned through them, consuming them. He pressed further. He reached. He consumed. He reached. He consumed. He thought that maybe amidst the screams, he heard a voice, crying out to retreat, to run. It was too late for that. He had given them a chance. He had offered them the option to surrender. They had squandered it. That path was lost to them now. And so he kept pressing outward, consuming everything within his reach, allowing his grace to burn...until there was nothing left.

 

***

 

Silvi saw it. She saw as the blue wave pulsed out from the angel consuming the legion.

“RUUUNNNNN!!!”

It was too late. She screamed as she fled from it. She screamed along with the multitudes as they were consumed. She screamed as her companions were devoured by blue fire and angelic fury. So, this was an angel...

 


	6. Light and Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastair is the worst. Dean is so strong. For the love of Chuck mind the tags
> 
> Warning: Whump, Torture, Psychological Abuse, Implied Sexual Abuse

 

Maybe he had imagined it, but Dean swore there was a light. He...felt it more than saw it. But for just a moment, it had washed over him in the most terrifying, powerful, all-consuming, and absolutely fucking beautiful shade of blue that he had ever “seen.” But it was gone now. It had faded out just as quickly as it had come. Dean tried to hang on to it, to think about that light and not the demon standing over him...but he was failing.

Dean was vaguely aware that he was screaming. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the knife as it carved its way down his leg and Alastair’s hand behind it as his thumb slowly worked down the inside of the now open flesh.

“You son of a bitch! So help me...”

“Shhhh. Sh sh shhh. Dean...” Alastair brought a finger to his lips. “Calm down, boy. So help you what? What will you do? You can do nothing, but...you know how to make it stop.” Alastair licked the blood from his hand then cradled Dean’s face with it. “I’ve already told you...it will stop as soon as you take my place, and another takes yours. Just get off this rack, Dean. That’s all it takes. You can make it stop. I’ll put down my blade if you pick one up.”

Dean spit. “Bite me.”

“Hmmm.” Alastair regarded him for a moment with mild amusement.  “I’m not opposed to it.” The blade dug its way beneath Dean’s bicep, then yanked down to sever the muscle from the elbow. Dean cried out again, cursing, begging, pleading, cursing some more…Alastair hummed. “Yesssss, good. I love the sound of your voice. I love the way you writhe, trying so hard to stay...I could do this forever. You know I could. You can feel that, right? But I have to wonder, Dean, how long can YOU last?”

Alastair ran his hands over Dean’s chest and down his sides. The way his eyes and hands played over him made Dean want to puke more than the pain did. Just when Dean thought that perhaps Alastair was done, he bent down and sank his teeth into the meat just below Dean’s collarbone. Wish a small chuckle, he clenched his jaw and yanked away, seemingly enjoying the reaction that it pulled from Dean. He savored the chunk of flesh in his mouth for just a moment before spitting it to the floor and leaning down again to Dean’s face. Dean let out a whimper as he felt Alastair’s lips against his ear.

“Well...you did ask so nicely for me to bite you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ha ha, now there’s an idea…”

Just then, Silvi burst into the room, panting, looking...well...not a whole lot better than Dean honestly. Her clothing was singed and her skin was burned with oozing red cracks breaking through blackened patches that covered her, though they seemed to already be healing, as were some of Dean’s ailments from early on in this “chat” that he and Alastair were having. Alastair addressed Silvi but kept his eyes on Dean.

“Is it handled?”

“Alastair, I...he…”

“Is it handled?”

“Alastair-”

He rounded on her. “Do I really have to do everything myself?” Dean watched hazily as Alastair finally gave her his full attention. “I gave you an _army_ and you _still_ couldn’t handle it?” He crossed the space to her in two large steps and backhanded her. She took it. “What do I have to do to motivate you?” He swung again a=and punched the other side of her face. She stumbled a bit, but otherwise didn’t respond. “Why is what I say not important to you?” He brought down another blow, and she crumpled to the floor.

“Alastair, I’m sorry. I...I tried. I...I’m sorry.”

“Not enough or you would have succeeded.” He rubbed his temples like she was giving him a headache. “Why do you not respect me, Silvi?”

“I do. I-”

“Stop. We’ll discuss this later.” He glanced back at Dean. ”We’re moving. It’s not safe here. We need to go deeper. Call two or three to accompany us. Do you think you can handle that without screwing it up?”

Silvi had looked beaten and terrified when she came to the room. Now, she looked broken. Hey lip quivered. She looked up at him and nodded. “Yes sir. Alastair, I’m so sor-”

“Sshhhh. Sshhh.” Alastair pulled Silvi into his arms and ran his fingers through her hair. “Oh Silvi, you’re still my baby girl.” He ran his hand down her back and kissed her cheek. “I will always love you no matter how much of a disappointment you are.” With that, he dropped his arms and walked away, leaving her to stand there and pull herself back together. Dean watched as her confident mask slid back into place. She turned and walked out of the room, returning in a matter of seconds with three other demons. Alastair smiled.

He walked back to Dean and regarded him for a moment. “Let’s get you moved shall we?” He snapped, and the room melted away. They were falling again.

 

***

 

_No!_ Castiel reached out, searching. What happened to it? That light...the colors...all the beautiful, glowing greens and golds that he had finally found in this godforsaken hellscape...they were gone. _No!_

Castiel was disoriented, drained from his outburst against the legion, but he flung himself in the direction where he thought he had last felt it. Castiel lamented, not for the first or the last time, that he alone had made it through the barrier into Hell. When he still could not sense it, he changed directions, flying as fast as he could in his state. Nothing.

He dove in another direction.

Nothing.

Another direction.

Nothing

Nothing.

Nothing.

Just...nothing…

_No…_

There was no ground to fall to, so Castiel crumpled in on himself, and wept.

 

***

 

Dean was definitely going to throw up this time. Muted colors and shapes swirled around him. He was still bound at his hands and feet, though the rack he had been tied to seemed to have dissappeared with the room. The air (if it could be called that) was thicker here than before. He hated it. He also hated the spinning. He wasn’t sure if he was spinning or if the world was spinning around him, but either way, it needed to stop. Every once in a while, he would feel something brush against his skin, as though hands were reaching out and running along him as their owners blew by...or he blew by...whatever.

Alastair’s voice cut through the chaos. “This should do.” Dean’s face hit concrete, soon followed by the rest of him flattening against it. He sputtered and struggled to stand, then crumpled as his stomach emptied itself...which was just insulting, because he was dead and in hell and that _really_ shouldn’t have even been possible, but there they were. The chain connecting to the cuffs on his hands were suddenly jerked, pulling him upright, though still on his knees.. Alastair looked down at him and spoke.

“We were rudely interrupted, but I would like to return, for just a moment, to our discussion about your role here.” He paused and lifted an eyebrow, searching Dean’s face as he waited for understanding to show itself, “Dean, I’m about to leave you for the moment.” Alastair narrowed his eyes.”Make use of that time to consider my offer. Maybe the next time we see each other can be more pleasant.”

Dean’s head was still swimming, but he jaw and met Alastair’s gaze.. He smirked. “Hey. Come here,” he whispered.  Alastair leaned closer. “You know what you can do with your deal? You can take it. And shove it straight up your ass.”

Alastair seemed to ponder this a moment before bending close and running his tongue up Dean's neck and over his ear. Then, Dean heard him whisper, “You know what? I have time. How about we shove it up yours instead.”

_What?_ As Alastair straightened, Dean saw Alastair’s hand move down to begin slowly working his already presenting bulge. _Oh… no. No..._

_NO!_

Alastair looked at Silvi and the three new demons with her. “Alright kiddos, please move our friend to the table. Oh…” he fixed Dean with a disgusting smile, “and turn him over.”

 


	7. Years Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years pass for Dean as Alastair sings over him and repeats his question..."How long can you last?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: torture, rape

Alastair was gone. Dean lay facedown on the table, crying, bloody, violated, broken. That song...that fucking song...would never sound the same again…

 

***

Years pass.

***

 

_Heaven, I'm in heaven,_

_And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak_

_And I seem to find the happiness I seek_

_When we're out together dancing, cheek to cheek_

So, it’s knives today. _Great._ But Dean could handle knives. He heard Alastair’s voice over him, hardly more than a hum in the background drowned out by the pain. Dean focused on neither of those things.

The light was back today. It was faint, and Dean had no idea what it even was...but he clung to it. He clung to it as Alastair cut and sliced. He clung to it and tuned out Alastair as he told Dean over and over how he could make it stop.

“Silly child. You are nothing, nobody. Just a broken hunter who spent his life sacrificing himself for a family who would have been better off without him. Just stop.”

No. He was more. Sam...Sam thought he was more...so he tuned it out. He focused on the blue light. It was the one beautiful and comforting thing in this hell.

“How long can you really keep this up, Dean?”

Didn’t Alastair get tired of asking the same question? Dean would never be him.

 

***

Years pass.

***

 

_Heaven, I'm in heaven,_

_And the cares that hang around me through the week_

_Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak_

_When we're out together dancing, cheek to cheek_

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and sobbed as Alastair’s hands softly caressed him. Alastair had discovered, to his delight and Dean's horror, that Dean hated it so much worse when Alastair was gentle. He _hated_ it. His chest hurt and his breathing hitched and tears ran, but Alastair just sang softly and gently ran his hands over him, almost as though they were lovers. They _weren't_.

Alastair’s hand worked it's way down to Dean's thighs, brushing against him. He smiled at Dean. “You’re going to like this,” he cooed at him as he eyed Dean hungrily and ran his hand back up the inside of Dean’s thigh.

He _wouldn't_ . He never did. He _hated_ it. He hated every damn second of it. But his dick didn't always know that. And right now, his dick was beginning to harden under Alastair’s attention because it was a traitorous little fuck and he hated it now too. He wished they would just cut it off…or...at least that it would stay gone when they did. Then, he wouldn't feel so betrayed.

Because that was the worst part of this...the way _his own_ _body_ rebelled and betrayed him. It was a different level of violation. When it was rough, his body was violated. But when Alastair was gentle...the first time Alastair had made him come...Dean felt like his own body had violated him too. It made the rape go deeper, until he felt like there was no part of him that wasn't gross.

“You know how to make it stop, Dean,” Alastair whispered as he pressed a kiss to Dean’s neck.

“Fuck you.”

“Ha ha, so eager…” He lowered himself on top of Dean and combed his fingers through his hair. Alastair kissed him softly and Dean cried. “Hhmmm, don't worry, boy. I'll make sure you enjoy yourself.”

Dean didn’t. But his body didn’t acknowledge that.

 

***

Years pass.

***

 

_Oh! I love to climb a mountain,_

_And to reach the highest peak,_

_But it doesn't thrill me half as much_

_As dancing cheek to cheek_

“You know how to make it stop, Dean,” Alastair called from where he sat across the room as Silvi and her henchman of the day had their fun.

There was no light today. Sometimes, Dean would close his eyes and think about it, even when he couldn’t sense it, because malicious or not, Alastair obviously didn’t like it...and that was enough. Dean pretended he could call out to it, scream to it in his mind, almost like a prayer.

This place was making him delusional…

But delusional or not...Dean was still Dean. And so at the end of the day, when Alastair again told Dean how he could make all this stop, Dean looked defiantly up at Alastair, with the same answer as always on his lips...“I'll never be you.”

Alastair sighed but his face was confident. “This is Hell, boy. Everyone breaks.   _Who are you to beat what has never been beaten?"_

He...he was Dean fucking Winchester. And he was tired. He was so damn tired. But he was still Dean. He could sense the light today. He clung to it.

 

***

Years pass.

***

 

_Oh! I love to go out fishing_

_In a river or a creek,_

_But I don't enjoy it half as much_

_As dancing cheek to cheek_

Dean cried out as Alastair’s blade ripped though his abdomen.

“You know how to make it stop, Dean.”

Dean glared up at him as he moved away, but there was no fire in it. He had no fight left. This place, this man, had consumed him, digesting him slowly over decades. Dean hated it. He was running out of strength to keep hating it. He tried to call up the fire, the anger, anything…

Alastair studied him. “I can do this forever, Dean. You know I can. How long can you last? Look at you. Clinging to this rack. Trying so very hard to be good, to fight what you are, to fight what you know you’ve always been...”

“Fuck you.”

Alastair’s face shaped itself into a slimy grin. “No no. We did that yesterday. Maybe later we can again if you’d like, but right now...I’m afraid I must leave you for a while.”

And then he was gone. Silvi lingered behind a moment after the others had left, replacing and arranging their instruments.

“Silvi...Silvi, please...you hate him too.”

“Shut up, Dean.”

“Silvi, you’re strong. We can take him. And you know a lot of the others will follow you. Please…”

“I said shut up…” She left too.

Dean cried...loudly, uncontrollably. Alastair’s question working its way through his mind... _how long can you last?_ He knew the answer: not much longer…

_Shit..._

 

***

Years pass.

***

 

_Dance with me_

“How long can you last, Dean?”

_I want my arm about you_

“Fuck you.”

_The charm about you_

“You know how to make it stop, Dean.”

_Will carry me through…_

“I’ll never be you.”

 

***

Years pass.

***

 

_To heaven_

_I'm in heaven_

_And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak_

_And I seem to find the happiness I seek_

_When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek_

 

“Stop.”

Alastair raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

“Just...stop...please…”

“You know know how to make it stop, Dean.”

“I know...I...fuck…”

Alastair waited for a moment, watching Dean. He signaled to Silvi. She and the others gathered around, ready in case Dean tried something foolish. He wouldn’t.

Alastair unbound Dean’s hands, his feet. Dean slid to the floor. Standing on his own for the first time in what felt like ages...maybe it was.

Alastair appraised him as Dean met his eyes. “It’s not over yet, Dean...but you know how to make it stop.” He extended the blade he was holding, handle first.

Dean trembled. He swore he could feel the ground shaking with him. He reached out. As he took the blade, he felt something inside him break. The sound of it shattering reached his ears. He turned to see two of Alastair and Silvi’s demons dragging someone in and fastening her to the rack Dean had just stepped away from. She was screaming. She was terrified. She looked at Dean with a look that he knew all too well. There was no light today, just the feeling of himself breaking apart. He lunged and brought the blade down. She screamed. Dean swore that all of hell screamed with her.

 


	8. Broken

 

Castiel felt so many things…frustrated, tired, and discouraged to name a few.

He would search. He would find. But every time he found him, all green and gold and warm, every time Castiel  would begin to close in, they would sense him, and then the world would shift and morph around him...and Dean Winchester would be gone.

Castiel felt small. He felt alone. He felt that maybe he should have given up and returned to Heaven long ago and come back with the garrison. He knew that if Heaven wanted, and was able, to send backup, then Castiel would have it whether he returned  to ask for it or not. The angel felt the years he had spent in Hell weighing on him. He felt as though his every effort was futile. He felt worn. He felt like retreating, giving up. But he thought of the light...of the warm greens and golds that were constantly calling out to him through the hellscape during his time here and how clearly they didn’t _belong_ here and knew that he couldn’t leave without him. This was more than a mission. He had seen this Dean Winchester’s soul, and even at a distance...it was _beautiful._

Castiel felt the air tremble.

_What?_

He felt foundations snap.

_Please, no._

Reality cried out as an invisible bond was shattered. The first seal…It was broken. That meant... _Dean Winchester had...and the apocalypse..._

_No. No. No. No. No…_

He had failed. Castiel felt as all of creation shook with acknowledgement of his failure. He felt crushed beneath the weight of it. He caught himself.

 _NO!_ Castiel did not have time for tiredness, for self pity. He had failed. But the one who began the apocalypse is the one who could stop it. Dean Winchester must be saved…and since Castiel had felt the seal break...felt its source...

He had a heading. He made a decision. This time he pressed forward, not with power and grace unfurled...but with stealth. If they wanted to keep rearranging Hell every time he got close, fine. He would avoid all battle. He would take the long way round. He would not fly in as a warrior but instead slink in as a burglar.

Castiel tucked his wings, let the pressure of Hell shrink in around him until he had made himself and his presence as small as he felt....and pressed forward. Dean Winchester would be saved.

Castiel tried not to think about what the broken seal meant for the soul that never belonged here...the beautiful soul he had failed.

 

***

 

Dean closed his eyes and tried not to vomit as Silvi unfastened the woman (Heather, Dean had learned…) from the rack. He drew a deep breath that his lungs didn’t need, but _he_ did.

“Why?” Dean didn’t even have energy to brace himself for the backhand...or something... for his insolence at questioning. Even so, he was still surprised when it didn’t come.

Alastair simply raised an eyebrow. “Why _what,_ boy?”

Dean swallowed. “Why not offer her the same deal as me?”

Alastair rolled his eyes and looked bored. “Because I don’t want her.”

“Why...why is she different?”

“Oh Dean, oh Dean,” he stood, “there are so many reasons. I don’t want her in _any_ of the ways that I wanted you.” His face warped into a slimy grin as his eyes roamed suggestively over Dean.

Dean’s stomach lurched, but he didn’t show it. “So basically, I’m prettier.”

“Ha ha, in a way. But not like you think. Don’t misunderstand, boy. I wanted her too. Ohhhh, I wanted her bad, went through quite a lot of trouble to get her too. But once we had her and I got close, could see the look in her eyes...I could tell she was _used._ ”

“What…?”

“She was damaged goods, Dean." He waved had dismissively and then seemed to ponder for a moment. "Imagine you’re a kid and it’s your birthday. There’s this toy that you’ve wanted, you see. Oh, you've been wanting it so badly...and the day comes, and you finally get that toy. You’re so happy as you unwrap it, until you see...you see that someone else has already played with this toy. They’ve broken it. Do you still want the toy, Dean?” Alastair crossed the room to Dean, and grabbed his face to make him meet his eyes. “No. No, you don’t.”

“I...guess that makes sense.”

“Of course it does, boy.”

“So, what you’re saying is that you broke me yourself.”

Alastair’s grip softened and his other hand wound it’s way over Dean’s chest and up his neck. “Ahh, what I’m saying, Dean, is that I’ve worn you in just the way I like you...and without anyone else’s grubby handprints on you.” He drew closer until their faces were inches apart. “You’re mine. Every part of you, every mark on you is mine.”With that Alastair dropped his hands and was gone.

Dean thought about everything Alastair had said, how he had said he didn’t want this girl because she was used, how he had compared her to a broken toy. Listening to Alastair explain it like that, it almost made sense. Except for one thing…

_People aren’t fucking toys._

Dean doubled over and vomited, which still shouldn’t have been possible.

“AAaahhhhhhhhh!” He punched the floor. “Fuck!” He stood and threw the blade at the wall. “ALL THAT TIME! I MADE IT ALL THAT TIME AND THEN I...I JUST...!” He grabbed a sledgehammer from the table and began laying into the rack, until it was a pile of crumpled scrap. It didn’t matter. It didn’t even make him feel any better. He crumpled onto the floor and cried, now, for a whole new reason. He wasn’t better. He had tried. He wanted to badly to be better. He had fucking tried so hard to be. He tried to remember Sam, to remember a time when someone believed he was worth something. He couldn’t.

 

***

 

Castiel was now close enough to sense Dean. Until this point, he had been traveling purely from memory of where he had felt the source of the break, desperately hoping that this was even still the right direction...but now there he was. He could see in the distance the faint glow of greens and golds. He was still so far away, but he was there.

 

***

 

“To what end?”

Alastair sighed as he looked up and crossed the room to Dean from his preferred spectator chair. “What do you mean?”

Dean and turned to face him. “Why...why am I doing this? What am I trying to get out of them?”

“Hmmm. Oh Dean…” Alastair raised a hand to Dean’s face, brushing fingers along his jaw. “You’re not trying to get anything out of them.” He smiled at Dean’s confusion. “Dean, Dean...don’t you see?” Dean froze and Alastair took Dean’s chin and pulled his face close. “This is for f _un_.” Alastair brushed his lips over Dean’s. “Learn to enjoy it.” And then he resumed his seat.

Dean tood a shaky breath and went back to work.

 

_***_

 

Castiel was close enough now to feel Dean’s warmth. How did that warmth feel so good in a place that was already burning him? He moved on, trying not to be distracted by the soft feeling of it.

 

***

 

Dean tried not to hear the man’s screams, tried not to feel the cracking of bones. Alastair was wrong. This would never be fun.

 

***

 

Castiel ducked out of sight. There were only a few, they would be so easy to destroy, but then his presence would be known. And he could not afford that. He detoured around the group. This was taking too long. If he could just use his wings...but no. Grace spilled from them freely and every demon on this side of hell would sense it. So he pressed on, meandering, letting Dean’s light serve as a beacon that he was steadily, slowly, working his way toward. As far away as he still was...this was now the closest he had ever been.

 

***

 

Dean spit out the blood that had sprayed into his mouth. Alastair was right. Dean _was good_ at this. He himself had always been a “blunt instrument.” Now hammers had become his instrument of choice.

 

***

 

Hell’s lack of order was...difficult. When everything was chaos, it was far too easy to chance upon a rogue demon.

Castiel turned a corner, and there she was. Before she could scream, he covered her mouth and released his grace, carefully, precisely as he could, pressing it into her while trying to keep it from flowing outwards in all directions. He felt her burning from the inside out as his grace twisted through her.

Castiel stepped over the ashes, and moved on. He was so close now. She wasn’t the first. She wouldn’t be the last. He didn't have the luxury of giving her a chance.

 

***

 

Dean faltered and sucked in a breath. _Was that…?_ He looked across the room to where Alastair sat. He showed no sign of noticing. Dean did his best to school his face and get back to work. Maybe he had imagined it. Or maybe he was just more in tune with that presence than others were since he had focused on it and clung to it for so long. It hardly mattered. But if...if it was real…

Dean sighed as he wiped blood off his face with his sleeve. Whatever it was, Alastair didn’t like it, which affirmed Dean’s liking of it...but also probably meant trouble for Dean. Dean assumed the feeling between Alastair and that presence was mutual. And if it didn’t like Alastair...Dean was sure that it wouldn’t like him either. Maybe the thing would come put them all out of their misery. Could you even die in hell? Not in Dean’s experience...

But maybe this thing was different. Maybe that's why they were all so freaked out by it. Back when...oh man this was so long ago...but back when Alastair had sent Silvi and the rest of the group to “deal with it,” she had been the only one of that group that Dean ever saw again. So maybe this thing _was_ different. Maybe it could actually obliterate whatever he and the demons were...kill them deader than dead. _Huh._ Dean twirled a line of small intestine around his finger. _Now there’s a thought…_

A hand he didn’t recognize was suddenly wrapped around his own. “Dean Winchester...Dean you...you don’t have to do this anymore.”


	9. The Righteous Man

 

## 4 Months Earlier...or 40 years...depends on how you count...

 Castiel walked the corridors of Heaven, lost in his thoughts as he waited for his garrison to assemble and for the appointed departure time to arrive. He felt unsettled. Who was he to question the wisdom of heaven? And yet…Ah, he moved to the right side of the hallway to avoid walking into another angel, why can’t I put these questions out of my mind?

“Castiel.”

He stopped, and turned to see the angel he had just passed. “Sister.”

“We are nearly ready, sir.” She hesitated for a moment. “Permission to speak freely, sir.”

Castiel sighed. “Sariel, we have been together for ages. You know that I welcome your thoughts.”

Her face softened a bit even with the slight furrow forming in her brows. “Of course.” She studied him for a moment. “Castiel, you...you seem troubled.”

Ah. Of course Sariel would pick up on Castiel’s mood. “It’s just...the righteous man. He just doesn’t seem...well…”

“All that righteous?” She quirked an eyebrow at him.

He sighed and nodded at her understanding. “Well, yes. From everything I’ve been told of him, he just seems...” his eyes squinted as he looked for the right word, “...broken. He and his brother are very far from perfect or what I would have considered ‘righteous’.”

Sariel chewed at her lip. It looked...rather human of her. She _had_ spend much time down there, Castiel supposed. “Look, this...is probably not my place to say, Castiel…”

“Again, I welcome your insight, sister.”

She looked off thoughtfully before continuing. “Well, humans...are confusing. I’ve spent a lot of time with them, and one thing I’ve learned is that _righteous_ almost never means _perfect_ . And sometimes the most broken people have the capacity for the most good. It...doesn’t make a lot of sense, but humans _are_ confusing creatures. I...well, I have a feeling that when you meet this ‘righteous man,’ you’ll see.”

 

 

## Now...

Castiel saw red. Not in the figurative sense...the literal one. Red was all over the room. It covered the floor. It was spattered across the walls. It colored the various instruments lying around…

But that wasn't the worst of it. Castiel stared at Dean Winchester, at the red scars cutting through his soul, standing out harsh and jagged against the soft gold and green tendrils of spirit that the red scars encased. He looked broken. He looked battered. But somehow...even covered in the scars from his years here...his soul still shined through the cracks, struggling, but warm and beautiful and so different from everything else around them. Castiel hated the red.

There was also red on Dean's hands, red running down the front of him as he tore into another soul's abdomen. This red hurt Dean the most. His face didn't show it, but his soul did. With every scream the man on the table let out, Dean’s soul screamed also. Castiel hated it. He wanted it to _stop_. He needed it to stop. He looked across the room to where two demons sat. They seemed distracted, neither of them paying attention to Dean. Even so...Castiel was frustrated. He could dispatch them so easily, but apparently someone around here had the power to mess with Hell’s reality, and if he was detected and they did it again...he was so close. He would not come this close just to lose the righteous man again. If he could just reach him…

Castiel was finally here. He had finally found him...and was stuck hiding in a corner like he couldn’t evaporate everyone in this room with a thought if he wanted to. Castiel found it...frustrating.

Another demon came running in. “Alastair, Silvi, I...I think you should see this…” The one called Alastair looked annoyed, but motioned for Silvi to follow as they left the room.

Finally. This was it. He looked back to Dean Winchester. Dean, who had just finished methodically hammering a man’s tarsal bones into shards and mush and was now pulling intestines from a freshly opened abdomen. His face showed nothing, but his soul was screaming. He hated it. He could stop now...

He could stop now. They could leave. They could _finally_ leave this place that was consuming them both. Castiel crossed the room, silently walking up behind Dean. He reached out and grasped Dean's hand, covered in blood.

"Dean Winchester…Dean, you…you don't have to do this anymore…"

Dean spun and swung his blade, which Castiel met with his own. They stood with blades crossed, studying each other. “Who the fuck are you?”

“My name is Castiel.”

“Yeah, okay. _What_ are you?”

“I’m an angel of the Lord.”

***

 

Dean stood, stunned. He could feel it. It was shrouded, but standing before him was plainly the presence, that blue light that he has spent so much time focusing on. It was...blurry...but Dean could feel the electricity, the hidden power that seemed like it would explode from this being any moment. It fascinated him. It terrified him.

Dean lowered his blade, backed away, and stepped back to the table the man was lying on, his eyes never leaving this _Castiel._ He reached over and unfastened the man’s bonds. “Leave.”

“What? I…”

“You’re already mostly healed anyway. That’s how this place works. Run. Before Alastair and Silvi get back.”

He ran. Dean spared him a glance, not long, but enough to see the pure terror directed at Dean as the man frantically scrambled for the door. Dean looked down and scrubbed a hand over his face. That expression was the kind of look Dean used to give Alastair. Now, Dean was the monster...

He looked back at Castiel. _An angel?_ Of all the things he had imagined was wandering the halls and voids of hell…

“Bullshit.”

Castiel’s expression darkened. “Excuse me?”

“Look, I don’t know what you are, but you’re no angel, so just cut the crap, alright?”

There was a growl and Dean suddenly found himself against a wall, Castiel’s hand gripping his shirt, his face inches from Dean’s. “Listen, boy. I did _not_ fight my way into the depths of this foul place for _this!_ I can carry you out nicely or drag you out kicking and screaming, but you should  _show me some respect_.”

 _Ah,_ there it was...that presence, the pressure, electricity, that blue light that was currently sparking in his eyes...if Dean had any doubts before that this was the being he had been sensing through most of his time here, they were gone. Sure, he was _something._ And he was something big enough to scare even the demons around here. _But an angel?_ There was no way.

His thoughts were interrupted. Castiel noticed it first. The first thing _Dean_ noticed were Castiel’s _wings_ revealing themselves (because holy crap) as his arms wrapped around Dean and he launched them both into the air. They didn’t get far though before Dean realized what Castiel was reacting to. Dean braced himself for the familiar lurch as the world began to spin. They were falling, flying, spinning. There was light and dark and heat and cold and screaming and void.

And then it stopped.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for walking through this hell with me. I'm on Tumblr by the same name if you'd like to come yell at me there.


End file.
